Beautiful, in every single way
by Sarah d'Emeraude
Summary: Surprisingly, his sexuality was one of the things that Daryl Dixon never questioned about himself. So how in hell could it be wrong in some crazy people's standards?


**I guess... I had an idea?**  
 **I'm back again... with my grammar mistakes, unfortunately. Sorry.**  
 **Also, I suck at titles and summaries.**

 **I hope you'll like this anyway! xx**

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Daryl Dixon had never considered himself as a sick person.

He should have, according to everyone, when he had discovered that he liked men in a way he shouldn't, when he was just a kid at the edge of puberty. But even when his father had beaten the shit out of him after discovering his porn magazines that definitely not featured women, he didn't feel sick. He hurt all over, his body ached in ways he had not thought possible, but he didn't feel bad about himself. He didn't understand why he was different, really, but he didn't believe people when they told him that "fags" were sick. Surprisingly, it was one of the things that Daryl Dixon never questioned about himself.

Later, even when he finally had sex with some men -and a few women, that Merle practically paid to sleep with him; he did not feel sick either. Sex was filthy, it was sticky and gross (especially with women, to his point of view), but he didn't feel sick afterwards. He'd seen Merle do some shit with women, when his brother had been lazy enough to leave his room open and in full display, and he'd seen things he never wanted to know about his brother, but also about women anatomy. Really, the rare few times he'd been forced to lay with one, they both stayed in the dark and it had been fumbling dick and a few pushes while thinking about muscular torsos and strong thighs. He had never done anything more, aware that the lady wasn't satisfied at the end, but seeing no point in pretending. And when he realized that he actually hated sex with women, the curves of their bodies and the smell of their arousal, he didn't feel sick.

His brother had his flaws, that was true. But if there was one thing that Daryl couldn't take away from him, it was the fact that Merle never said anything about him being gay. He knew how racist and homophobic the man could be, and in his very own way, it was a strong mark of affection to close his eyes on his brother's sexuality. So Daryl stopped sleeping around with men in the back of his shitty car or in some bar's toilets, out of respect for his brother. When his eyes occasionally landed on men's asses, however, he didn't feel sick.

When the whole mess that was the apocalypse happened, Daryl didn't really find the time to think about his inner feelings. They went from Atlanta to Hershel's farm, to the prison and finally settling up in Alexandria. All the while, sex or feeling had been out of the question for mostly all of them, until Aaron found them. And when Daryl finally allowed himself a break, dining with the both of them and agreeing to hunt people with Aaron, he never once felt sick. Looking at them, their house, their life together and the way they looked at each other, it never once felt wrong.

After a few visits at Hilltop, and after learning that Jesus (the prick who wasn't such a prick after all, according to Maggie who found in him his anchor, and any friend of Daryl's friend was his friend) was going to live in Alexandria from this very moment, Daryl felt uneasy. It probably had to do with the fact that Alex, the doll looking nurse from Hilltop, had tried to persuade Jesus to stay, talking about how they could give another chance to their relationship. At this moment, Daryl had felt sick for the very first time, but only when he realized that he was jealous of Alex's hand on Paul's skin.

When Daryl laid eyes on Jesus (or for him, Paul) afterwards, usually after the younger man's orgasm -he loved to watch and study his lover post coital, when Paul was all cuddly and sleepy- he definitely didn't feel sick. Quite the contrary, really. He had never felt the way he felt for the other man, and he knew it wasn't only the climax talking. He did all sorts of crazy things with Paul (and not only sexual), but he never had felt uneasy in his presence like he had at the gate with Alex grabbing Paul's wrist.

Even when it was time for Daryl to come out to his family, firmly holding hands with Paul for all of them to see, he didn't feel sick. The smiles and clap on the back made him blush like a teenager, though, but he didn't feel any judgement coming from their friends. Even now, when they sometimes burst in his and Paul's house without knocking and found them lazily kissing on the couch, Daryl just growls, but never feel sick about them knowing that they are intimate. Even when father Gabriel smiles at him in the morning, when he's heading to the gates to hunt some rabbit for lunch, he doesn't.

When they go on runs together, killing walkers and getting covered in blood and dirt, never once does Daryl question his life of his sexuality. Even when he wipes some dead people's blood from Paul's cheek, looking at him with a loving look and smiling at the younger man's disgusted expression when he kisses him while they both stink. Even when they come home, shower together, and fall in bed with their limbs tangled and fingers probing at each other's skin, it feels too good for him to feel sick about it.

When Paul moans his name, body shaking with each of his deep trusts inside the other man's body, or when his fingers find his arms to hold on to then while he comes, Daryl doesn't know how any of this should make him sick. The pleasure he feels rolling in waves inside his body, the pleasure written all over Paul's face and the sound the younger man makes -God, the sounds!, how any of this should make him feel uneasy? How could any of this be wrong in some crazy people's standards?

And when Paul falls asleep, chest still covered in sweet and come with his head turned towards his lover looking at him from his spot on the cold side of the bed, Daryl pushes back any thought of this being wrong. It can be, because just like this, cock softening against his thigh, mouth half opened and hair disheveled against the pillow, there is no way in hell that Paul, his Paul, is sick. That any of the things they do, the way they love each other and the pleasure they feel every time they make love is anything but beautiful.

Yes, every time Daryl lays eyes on Paul, he wonders how anyone in this world or the older one could think that their love, or this man, is sick.


End file.
